just to get this written down
I don’t have a working computer, so I just want to describe this. Those of you reading this might question why i’m putting it here but i have few other options.
We’re talking about a life event here, and one of those life events that are…the exact opposite of how you’d expect it to be.
Lately I’ve been worried about myself, about being selfish, which I hate and don’t want to be. To put it succintly, I don’t believe in kharma, but that doesn’t preclude me from helping out those around me in need. It feels…good to help someone, and sometimes you help those not deserving of it. And that can feel better.
The scene:
I’m at the after party for my previous employer’s xmas party. I show up after my work, everyone is wasted beyond their mind. “GOOOOODSMIIIIITH!” they shout, not sure why they’re shouting. I spend a decent amount of time with Blake.
Blake is around 40, 42. He is married to a Guatamalan woman, has two kids, and last year he got wasted and tried to get, as he says, “grabby” with a 20somthing friend/coworker of mine. It was office gossip, as office gossip tends to be. He talks to me about it, says he gets gropey when he is drunk, nothing would happen, etc etc.
Now, the place has thinned out, I’m talking to some 40something women along with a coworker of Blake’s. Drunk-as-hell Blake is hitting on EVERYONE, the coworker I’m with, Tim, is disgusted. “Jeff’s a good guy” he says, “everyone liked him when he worked here.”
That made me feel….nice.
When Blake starts aggressivley hitting on the 40somethings, I intervene. Try to distract him. Eventually he says, “let’s go” so I go with him. On the way out, Tim says, “you’re my hero.”
Blake is stumbling drunk, wants to go to another bar. We’re at Chicago and State at 10PM at night, he is stupid drunk, and I’ve been drinking but not enough to affect me. I say, “where do you live?” He says, “Jefferson Park”. I say, “oh off the blue line. Ok, I will take you to lawrence, we can get a drink at Fat Cat, and you can grab a bus to Jefferson park from there, or you can chill at my apartment if you need to.”
Blake is slurring his words, half incoherent, not sure what he wants to do. He keeps saying, “I’m a prick”. Over and over again. I’m a prick I’m a prick I’m a prick, why are you helping me?
I say, you were good to me. You pay that shit forward. You never acted like a prick to me, so if you need help I’m here to help you.
Again, “shit, I’m a prick. I have a family. I’m…I’m a fucking prick”
I say, you did nothing. You have nothing to be ashamed of. Let’s just get you home. I can hail a cab for you.
“No” he says. He sits on a railing, looking out. “I found a wallet there” he says, softly, so I can only hear when I lean in to his lips. “And I never opened it. I…I took it to the CTA, and gave it to them. Never opened it. I don’t know where it’s gone…”
I say, “That’s because you’re a good person. That’s why you did it. You’re not a prick, you just make mistakes. That doesn’t make you a prick.”
He looks at me. He holds his hand for me to shake, and holds it for a long long time. “when I was your age,” he says, “this would be an act that sticks with me for a long time. You’er an outsider, you don’t work here anymore”
“I used to work with you,” I say.
“You don’t. All those people in there, none of them…none of them offered to do what you’re doing.”
“You’re a good person” I say, “You treated me well when I was here, you never did anything bad to me.”
“…To hear that I’m a good person from you…….that means something to me.” A pause. “I’ll take a cab home.”
So, I hail the cab. He drives off. I assume he made it back okay. I…well, I feel like a good person today. It’s…it’s nice.
